Aftermath
by Measi
Summary: Nine/Jack. Thoughts come unbidden the morning after. Written for October ’07 lj user”dwliterotica” challenge. Prompt #13, “Wild Boys” by Duran Duran


He watches her from the shadows, forcing himself not to move from the painful crouch he's assumed to stay out of her line of sight. He doesn't want to worry her in his current state. He's too angry and confused to appreciate the mothering that she'd give him, not wanting to risk lashing out at her. 

She circles sleepily through the control room for a moment, visibly confused at his absence, before padding back down the hallway to the kitchen. He finally takes a deep breath.

It's not long before he smells the bitter, earthy, and utterly delicious smell of fresh brewed coffee. He makes a mental promise to spoil Rose rotten for days. But for now, he can't follow her to the kitchen. He needs to figure out what has happened to him.

He's not himself – woozy, clumsy, and feeling annoyingly human. His blood still pounds with the herbs lacing the wine he drank last night. His blood pressure is still far too high. Hallucinogens, definitely, and he's unsure whether to feel happy or depressed that he wasn't able to enjoy their more "colorful: influences. He knows one thing – the hangover is unfair, particularly since he didn't have the thrill that the throbbing pain is supposed to follow.

On the other hand, he's relieved that Rose had chosen to stay in the TARDIS for a quiet evening alone. The festival had been full of the dangerous sorts that would have, in the best case scenario, leered and groped at her for the entire evening. Add in the wine, possibly some other substances, and the condition he'd found himself in at the end of the night, and he is very, very thankful she'd stayed home. Stayed where he wouldn't have to worry about her safety.

Safe. Rose is safe.

Now he needs to find Jack.

Hissing as his bare feet press into the floor grates, he hobbles across the console room to the hallway, heading for Jack's room. It's pushed back deep within the corridors today, as if the TARDIS doesn't want him to find the door, but his mind remains intent upon his goal, finally arriving at the understated wooden door that normally is only a few steps from his own.

"_What do you see in the flames, Doctor?"_

He feels the ghost touch of Jack's lips against his ear, whispering seductively as the two men stood in front of the central bonfire. He shivers at the memory of Jack's hand running slowly up his back, the sensation of touch piercing through the layers of leather and jumper as if they didn't exist. He sees fire against bare skin, hears sounds of passion that sound disturbingly like his own voice – sounds that he knows are forbidden, and his worry rises.

Just what exactly did he do last night? He groans, resting his head against the doorframe for a moment before tapping lightly at the door.

No response comes.

"Jack?" he calls, his voice raspy, as he taps again.

And again, there is no answer.

He's reluctant to invade Jack's room, but knows that this time "without reason" does not apply. His head is swimming and sick from the herbs and can only imagine what they're doing to Jack's body. The internal protests take little effort to shove away. He grasps the doorknob, and pushes his way in.

Jack made it to his bed, at least, in one piece and without his clothing. He sprawls naked on his stomach, snoring comfortably. Clothes the Doctor recognizes from last night are strewn everywhere, including… his eyes grow wide as he sees his own leather jacket in a pile next to the corner of the bed. And nearby, the boots he wore last night.

_No, no, NO._

He paces, running his hand over his the stubble of hair on the top of his head. His mind races with the worst case scenarios forefront in his thoughts. He doesn't notice the implicating boot in his path as he stumbles, forcing him to slam his hand against the bedroom wall to catch his balance.

"What was that?" Jack's voice is hoarse as he mumbles. The Doctor sees him raise his head, rolling over and squinting as if blinded by bright lights that don't exist in the room, and the situation sharpens and pop! Jack bolts upright, wide awake. "What's wrong, Doctor?"

He can't admit what he thinks to Jack, can he? Jack, who would take any suggestion as a matter of pride – he can't let him know what he thinks happened last night. It's wrong, it's forbidden. But the evidence is right here in front of him, and he panics, pacing a few more times as the younger man continues to stare at him from the center of the bed. But he knows… he knows he needs to talk with Jack about this now, now before he has a chance to mention it to Rose.

"I'm trying to remember last night, and I can't. And that bothers me. A lot."

Jack is unphased by the sharp, curt tones with which the Time Lord speaks. "Well, you drank a lot. I know that much."

"By the bonfire?" It's a question, but not a question.

"Yep."

"And what happened?" his eyes are pleading with Jack, begging him to tell him that nothing happened, that his worries are silly paranoid fantasies brought on by the hangover.

"Well… we talked. A lot."

"Yes?" He's pacing again. Talking is okay. As long as it was just walking.

"And then we danced."

_Danced. Shit._ He swallows, takes in a deep breath, and then stares at Jack. "And then what?"

"We came back here."

"To your room?"

"You weren't feeling well. You wanted to lie down. You wouldn't let me take you to your room. You didn't want me to know where it was." Jack frowns. "A little offended by that, by the way. Kept mumbling about something forbidden, but you didn't want to listen. You weren't making sense. Which, by the way, is something else to add to the repair list. When you get drunk? The TARDIS stops translating you."

The Doctor dismisses the point with a wave. "That's on purpose, most likely. Long-standing rule – no translating anything of Gallifrey. It's a protection mechanism in case someone gets in here."

"Then you need to put some bilingual signage around the infirmary and the console room so I can find things when you're pissed."

"If I'm ever in danger, trust me, she'll make sure you find things," he retorts. "Now, what else happened last night?"

Jack shrugs, flipping his feet out from the bed and wincing as he pushes himself up from the bed. His right knee cracks just a bit as he puts pressure on the joint, forcing him to hobble a few steps before he's able to walk smoothly. He reaches for a pair of loose cotton pyjama pants and awkwardly slides his legs into them, pulling the waistband to its proper resting height and stretching his arms to the ceiling in one motion.

The Doctor quickly moves his eyes away before Jack notices him watching.

"Well, you kissed me. Then you started crying and apologizing for it. And I couldn't figure out why you were sorry for it – I mean, it was a great kiss." He stops when he sees the Doctor gaping at him. "Relax. Nothing else happened. We kissed. You fell asleep curled up against me. But nothing else happened – whatever was going on in your head last night involved demons that I wasn't exactly up for unlocking and complicating."

"So we didn't have sex, then?"

"No, Doctor. We didn't. So relax," Jack replies testily. His eyes narrow in anger. "I realize you think I shag everyone we come in contact with, but I haven't done anything to take advantage of you. Or Rose, before you start getting _that_ idea in your head. All right?"

"But the bonfire. You asked me what I saw in the fire. You whispered in my ear, didn't you?"

He watches the expressions pass across Jack's face as he relives the evening. "Yes. That was right before we started to dance."

"I can't remember anything but you whispering in my ear."

"Shame. You're a good dancer, you know. And a good kisser. I was hoping that we'd continue, but you weren't ready for it. The guys next to us were getting a bit hot and heavy, though – I think that's what set you off. I got the point and backed off."

The Doctor releases the breath he hadn't realized he's been holding and allows the tension to drain just a bit. His head is still pounding, much to his annoyance, but the sharpened drumbeat from panic has stopped.

"Doesn't mean I'm not interested, though, Doctor," Jack says, walking slowly up to the Time Lord. He takes the Doctor's face gently in his hands, leans forward, and kisses him.

His instincts don't kick in – he's not pulling away, and it bothers him. He should be pulling away. It's forbidden. He forbids himself this – it complicates things too much. But Jack's kiss is reassuring and restrained. And as soon as he relaxes into it, his lips are touched by the cool air of the bedroom once more.

"When you're ready," Jack finishes, smiling as he caresses the Doctor's cheek. "Only when you're ready."

He nods, blinking in embarrassment. He bends down, grabbing his coat and his boots, and stares again at the younger man in front of him, speechless. Shoving down the voices that have been mocking him all morning, he leans in, gives Jack the quickest of kisses, and runs out the door.

He'll apologize later, although he's sure that Jack already understands. And when he's ready, he will return.


End file.
